


My Own Soul's Warning

by copernicusjones



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Attraction, Character Study, F/M, Introspection, Shosanna/Marcel is briefly alluded to, rating is for just a bit of language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copernicusjones/pseuds/copernicusjones
Summary: Shosanna finds herself on the other side of the glass.
Relationships: Shosanna Dreyfus/Fredrick Zoller
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	My Own Soul's Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Killers' song of the same name.

In three days, her dress will be ready. In five days, she will be wearing it.  
  
In five days, she will _die_ wearing it.  
  
Shosanna has made peace with her fate. There was a small window of time where she had not, where she and Marcel had discussed how probable it might be for them to escape the inferno they plan to set. Where she was adamant that her surviving—yet again—would make this _fuck you_ to the Nazis an even more spectacular gesture.  
  
But then, she realized, she would be a target. Hunted. Would need to run, dodge, lie, hide, much in the same way as she does now, and not only that, Marcel would too. She has already asked so much of him, and that he would do anything for her, unasked, does not matter.  
  
It's not about dying with pride, with a sense of triumph. It's about it being on her own terms—honoring Maman and Papa, Amos and Oncle Bob, who did not have that option. Even Ada and Jean-Pierre, her family-that-wasn't, had no say. Death came sudden, a thief in the night, or in the form of callous irony; a woman so strong and resilient sapped of life in a matter of days, as if mocked for bothering to _live_ so boldly and unapologetically.  
  
When she'd inherited Le Gamaar, she could not fathom having something to call her own—even if it was Emmanuelle's, not Shosanna's. Now, on the cusp of destroying it, she does not feel wistful or reminiscent, recalling the happy moments with Marcel woven between the uncertainty and terror of everyday life. There is only an acute _gratitude_ that her darling (Tante Ada would call the cinema that, facetious) will make its debut—and swan song—on the grandest stage.  
  
Shosanna's feet have unconsciously taken her along the same route they have hundreds of times before, and she only realizes she's passing Vieux Jardin because one of the servers, a young woman named Nathalie, calls “Bonjour, Emmanuelle!” as she exits the café. Shosanna blinks back to the present and gives Nathalie a stuttered greeting in return before automatically turning to face the café's window.  
  
She stills, body and breath. Her mind, though—and her _heart—_ are ratcheting like the switch has just been thrown on a projector. The din of mixed German and French wafting from the café fade out; _Tck-tck-tck_ is all she can hear, a pounding in her ears.  
  
Through the window, she sees him, at the same booth she'd been sitting in a few weeks before.  
  
Fredrick Zoller is hunched over at the table, writing with a honed concentration. She can not see his face—the window is smudgey and she is several feet away—but she knows it's him. The sweep of his brown hair, the curve of his shoulder as he leans heavily onto his hooked arm and scrawls away.  
  
And his uniform—it is what she sees, after all _that_ ; after seeing the _boy_ , alone with his pen and paper and half-empty glass of wine.

He could be any soldier. _Non_ , Shosanna scolds herself, he is not _any_ soldier. He is Fredrick Zoller, German war hero and star of _Stolz der Nation_.  
  
Cast in a candid light before her. Writing... to whom? To his sisters in Munich, who he claims Emmanuelle reminds him so much of? To friends—he must have some, his age, who are still on the front, or are peers in the industry, who he met while filming _Stolz der Nation_. Maybe, even, he's writing to a sweetheart back in Germany, who waits to hear—  
  
_Non_. Shosanna draws the curtain on that line of thinking. Fredrick only has eyes for her—as much of a nuisance he may be, he does not strike her as the carousing sort, eager to bed a girl in every town. She wishes he were; that his attention was not so openly _pure_ , steeped in something so shallow—and yet, when shaving off the outermost layers, as deeply complex—as a shared love of cinema. Then she could hate him, as much as she hates the other Nazis, instead of simply pitying him.  
  
Perhaps, she decides, he's writing to her. Professing his admiration for her through florid lines befitting of a film script, when what he's expressed verbally, and through his actions, have not seemed to suffice.  
  
But that's a lie, albeit a small one. His actions—one in particular—have touched her. He did, unthinkingly, what she's wanted to do for years: stand up to that despicable Hans Landa. Is it fair to be thankful for—to appreciate—what he'd tried to do, even if it'd had no effect? It does not mean she doesn't find his naivete and persistence infuriating, but she can't deny the well of vengeance gradually filling up inside her does not have a spot where Fredrick Zoller neatly fits alongside names like Adolf Hitler and Joseph Goebbels and Hans Landa.  
  
Perhaps if Shosanna really _were_ Emmanuelle Mimieux, and not just acting the role of her, she would care for him, and not in this abstract way. She can not wrap her head around the idea of loving him, even as Emmanuelle. That is too great a suspension of reality, to think of herself as sympathizing with the Nazi regime, even as a Gentile Frenchwoman.

But Emmanuelle might— _might—_ not have the same reservations about at least getting to know Fredrick. The boy forced to be a man forced to be a hero _embracing_ becoming a monster. And who thinks of himself as none of those things; only, simply, Fredrick.  
  
And Fredrick would get his wish too—to _know_ her.  
  
Oh, but what little good wishing does anyone now. It is why Shosanna took her aunt's dress to the tailors; to be altered, hemmed, in time for her wish to transform into a full-fledged operation.  
  
She watches Fredrick mull over what to add to his letter next, and a server approaches the table, blocking him from Shosanna's view—until his curious expression appears, as he leans forward to look around the server, and out the window. The naked joy lighting up his face sends pain, hot and sharp, twinging behind her breastbone.  
  
Shosanna ducks her head. She walks briskly, with purpose, away from Vieux Jardin. By the time she hears Fredrick's pleading “ _Emmanuelle_?”, she's far away enough that she isn't sure if it's real or imagined. Nor is she sure which would be less upsetting.  
  
She curses herself for stalling at the café, for allowing her defenses to slip even in that brief moment. Fredrick must die, because all those other Nazi swine must, too. Does he spend this much time dwelling on the hundreds of Allies he killed? Shosanna doubts it—he is the German nation's _pride_ , after all; what room is there for regret and empathy? He is nothing but a sycophant, entitled and so very _desperate_ to prove he's not, that it only enhances, quite clearly to Shosanna, how pathetic he really is.  
  
But to the Germans, he's a hero; not because he chooses to be, but because _they_ have decided that is his title. And thusly, every hero must have a prized rescued damsel at his arm—even if he's failed to properly woo her, to learn more than one damned thing about her.  
  
Except Fredrick's not the only one who's desperate, Shosanna reminds herself. He'll get to know the real Shosanna Dreyfus soon enough—the true hero of this war.

**Author's Note:**

> Just let me love this pairing and the tragic what-if-ness of it all. I incorporated some of the original script where Shosanna learns more about Fredrick's personal life than what is shown in the film. I had this idea for a few days but was inspired to write it after **lindsayweir** posted their one-shot of Fredrick waxing over Shosanna, [your world's gonna leave you behind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393460). It's awesome, go read it!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


End file.
